


the love exchange

by relationshipcrimes



Series: shuake week 2019 [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: I Wrote This For Shuake Week And It Shockingly Contains Actual Shuakes, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relationshipcrimes/pseuds/relationshipcrimes
Summary: After a late-night accidental kiss at Leblanc, Akira and Akechi wind up in something that could be a casual, low-stress relationship, except that Akechi is incapable of doing anything casually and without stress. As always, Akira has to do everything around here.





	the love exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Shuake Week 2019, Day 4: Deadly sins. Originally titled "the pleasure game"; modified 12/10/19.

**lust: to indulge the pleasures of the body**

The first time is a mistake, so it’s no one’s fault: They’re just talking late in Leblanc after the café has closed as the sun goes down and their voices fall quiet, so quiet that they have to lean their heads closer together over the plate of curry Akechi is still picking at, talking about some subject or another that they can’t agree on. Akira is being obstinate as usual and Akechi, instead of getting frustrated, breaks into a delighted smile that’s so much more real than his plastic TV smiles and is also less than six inches away from Akira’s face, so Akira just doesn’t think and leans in and kisses him right on his smile and Akechi freezes. Akira freezes. “Sorry,” he says while he’s still got his lips right up against Akechi’s and pulls away, just as Akechi wraps his hand around the back of Akira’s neck, the leather glove hot and plastic against his skin, and pulls him back in for a bruising, close-lipped kiss, like he can’t make up his mind about if he wants to keep it as chaste as possible or devour Akira all at once. Thirty minutes later, Akechi’s panting with one hand on Akira’s ass, the other up Akira’s shirt, while Akira sucks a lovebite into Akechi’s bared shoulder like a fucking vampire.

By the time they’re done with their first marathon make-out session, Akechi’s hair is mussed from Akira’s hands, he can’t seem to catch his breath, and the way Akechi’s looking at him—Akira wants to drink in that look of wanting all day long. Akechi looks _very_ well-kissed and more than a little dazed. Akira’s not some sort of man-eating, lust-driven temptress, he swears, but there’s something about Akechi, in his pretty white shirt and soft brown hair and pressed clean jacket, that makes Akira want to be what dirties him up, pull him down, make them drown in pleasure together until Akechi can’t handle it anymore.

“Now what?” Akira asks softly instead of literally all that stuff that would probably make Akechi run for the hills.

“I need to—get home,” says Akechi. He still sounds a little punchdrunk. “The trains will probably stop soon.”

Akira smiles widely at the thought of Akechi walking out in public looking like this. “You could stay if you want,” he says, leaning in for just one more kiss. There’s something so sweet about the taste of curry that Akira made for him in Akechi’s mouth, about the way Akechi’s lips are the ones that linger on his, how upset Akechi looks despite himself when they pull apart.

“I think if I stay any longer…” Akechi swallows. He still hasn’t taken his hands out from under Akira’s shirt. His actual hands, without the gloves. “We shouldn’t.”

There it is—that look of wanting, of desperation, of Akechi’s last shreds of self-restraint. Still trying to button himself up into the elegant Detective Prince. Akira runs his tongue over his own front teeth and watches Akechi’s eyes trace the movement. “We shouldn’t,” says Akechi again, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“If you’re sure,” says Akira, and that look of desperation in Akechi’s eyes only sharpens into longing. “I’ll walk you to the station.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” he says again.

By the locked Leblanc door, Akira puts him back together again: runs his hands down Akechi’s chest, smooths out his rumpled shirt, buttons Akechi’s jacket for him, kisses him one more time, long and languid, as he runs his fingers through Akechi’s ruffled hair. Akechi backs him up against the wall and kisses him one more time with a remarkable amount of confidence and tongue for someone who probably hadn’t even had his first kiss before tonight. “I thought you were going to the station,” Akira says smugly.

Akechi breaks away. Takes a shaky breath. “…Right.”

“You better go. It’s pretty late.”

“Right.” Akechi steps away.

Akira unlocks the door, then straightens Akechi’s collar over the lovebite just to see Akechi flush. “Text me when you get home.”

Akechi doesn’t. Not that night, not the morning after, not for a whole week. Akira has to find out that Akechi’s not dead from the interview that airs two days later, in which Akechi’s once again immaculately put together and distantly polite.

**greed: to prize gain above kindness**

Akechi walks in one afternoon after not responding to like, four different text messages for the last seven days, and says immediately: “Can we talk?”

That’s rich coming from Akechi, because Akira’s wanted nothing else _but_ to talk. Akira looks at Sojiro. “Take it upstairs. Don’t take too long,” says Sojiro, sounding supremely uninterested in teenage drama, so Akira pulls off his apron and dumps Morgana on Sojiro and heads upstairs with Akechi alone.

“About what happened last week,” says Akechi, cutting right to the chase. Akira hasn’t even offered to get him something to drink or a place to sit. Akechi clears his throat stiffly. “I… apologize for my conduct. It won’t happen again.”

Akira looks at him levelly through his fake lenses. “Did you think I didn’t like it?”

Akechi has gone, somehow, even more tense, and is now standing a little like a soldier bracing for impact with his stupid briefcase still in his hand. “It was deeply inappropriate and it won’t happen again. I hope that we can remain friends.”

Akira always wonders who determines what’s appropriate and what’s inappropriate. Sounds like he’s getting shut down either way. “Oh. Okay.”

“I value our conversations,” says Akechi, like Akira hadn’t just said okay. Akira feels a little like Akechi not only has a script, but would have brought a Powerpoint to this presentation if he could have.

Akira thinks about it. “Okay,” he says.

Akechi blinks. “…Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

For some reason, Akechi apparently did not foresee Akira just saying yes. Did Akechi think that Akira was going to arm-twist him into a relationship? “…Thank you for… understanding,” says Akechi, like he’s struggling to remember his script. “…Let’s never speak of this again.”

“Okay.”

Akechi’s hand is vicelike around the briefcase handle. “Whatever you want,” Akira promises, and really sincerely means it. Akechi doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. After a moment, Akira figures that’s the end of it, and starts to move back downstairs.

Akechi makes a strangled movement, like he wanted to reach for Akira but stopped himself just in time. Akira stops. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“We _cannot_ do this,” says Akechi again. “And we absolutely cannot _ever_ speak of it.”

“That’s fine.”

“I mean it,” he says forcefully.

Akechi’s practically vibrating now and looking more furious without himself for the weakness. “Seriously, are you okay?” Akira asks, and puts a hand on his arm like he can steady him. And maybe this one is Akira’s fault, because he forgot to stand far enough away from Akechi, and Akechi’s biting his lip so hard that all the blood’s drained from his face. Akira leans in to look at him, and Akechi leans in too, staring at Akira with such naked longing that Akira maybe stops thinking and puts his hands on Akechi’s cheek and still, _still_, Akechi won’t move because of his damn pride.

“We can’t do this,” Akechi says quietly. “And we can’t talk about it.”

Akira puts it together. “It never happened,” Akira promises. “And I’ll take this whole thing with me to my grave.”

Akechi drops the briefcase and kisses him hard. Akira doesn’t go back downstairs for a long time. They agree it didn’t happen, and they don’t talk about it.

**pride: to place distorted faith in oneself**

They make a deal.

In the afternoons, Akira serves coffee and Akechi cheerily picks his brain about theory and society. At night, Akira locks up. Even later, Akira unlocks the front door and lets Akechi back in. Akechi's always a little more nervous, a little quieter, polite but tense, like the plastic of the Detective Prince has gone thin enough to see through. Akechi always pulls the curtains closed. Akechi always leaves before the trains stop. And then the next day, Akechi's back in Leblanc, and Akira serves him coffee, and they pretend nothing happened.

"We can't be dating," says Akechi one night when Akira unlocks the door, nearly apropos of nothing at all.

"Okay," says Akira. Whatever Akechi wants. If Akechi just wants to come over every few nights to be horny under the cover of secrecy, then that's what Akira will work with.

"You understand, don't you?"

"I do."

Akechi gives him a smile so fake Akira can taste chemicals. "You'd just let me take advantage of you? This situation isn't exactly kind to you. In this bargain, you could say I'm getting the far better deal..."

Akira gives him a look. Locks the door behind Akechi, slow and sure, like the click of a jail cell. Akechi's smile drops.

"Don't worry about it," Akira says.

*

Akira, of all people, knows his way around a deal.

He knew what he was getting into when he kissed a celebrity. (It's not like you kiss a person like Goro Akechi on a whim.) The media blowout would be insane if people got wind that Detective Prince Goro Akechi was making out with _anyone_, let alone with a guy. Akira resigns himself to being Akechi’s dirty secret within a day. He’s already Ohya’s dirty intel secret, and Kawakami’s dirty Friday-night secret, and his parent’s dirty family secret, and also a Phantom Thief, one big dirty secret for society itself.

Akira already owns a whole ledger of secrets: Iwai's old ties, Kawakami's night job, Toranosuke's mistakes, Sojiro's regrets. He likes keeping them safe. He likes that the people who confide in him know that he could ruin their lives, and that he's here to help, instead. Don't worry about it, Akechi. Akira knows how to keep a secret. Akira knows how to _be_ a secret.

Being a secret means Akira has the best license possible to have fun.

He texts Akechi thinly-veiled innuendo at all hours of the day. He sits too close to him in the Leblanc booths and pretends he can’t see Sojiro’s disapproving looks. When Akechi tells him to stop staring into space and focus on their chess match, Akira looks him in the eye and tells him without hesitation that Akechi’s face is just too distracting. Once, when Goro’s leaving Leblanc and Akira tells him to come back soon, Akira _winks_ at him, and thinks immediately: Oh god. Akira _did_ that. Like a huge loser. A walking wheel of cheese. Akira’s judging _himself_ now. But Akechi looks like he’s about to combust from either laughter or embarrassment, so Akira actually doesn’t care.

Akira invests in learning how to deepthroat a popsicle even though summer’s over. Akechi, unable to back down from any competition ever, learns how to lick cake frosting off his fingers like a porno cliché. They lean over the Leblanc counter too close together, talking about the weather like it’s pillow talk until Sojiro tells Akira to get the hell out of his café. Akechi starts playing with pencils and pens in front of him to show off his fingers, fiddling with his gloves and flashing his wrists like some Victorian woman flashing her ankles, and the most embarrassing part is that it fucking _gets_ Akira. When they're alone, Akira starts taking his time for everything: he slows down their kisses until Akechi’s biting his lips with impatience, takes five minutes to undo Akechi’s shirt buttons, laughs when Akechi snaps and pushes him down against the mattress.

At one point, Akira dedicates himself to kissing every inch of Akechi’s bare chest until Akechi’s squirming in his lap with a glazed look in his eyes, and then Akira blows a huge raspberry directly into his skin. Akechi yells and knees him in the gut.

*

Whether or not Akira can put his hands on Akechi's dick is a policy that Akira had to drag out of Akechi, like Akechi has some sort of allergy to talking about what they’re doing. Right, that probably has something to do with “we can’t talk about it.” Well, that’s too bad, because Akira would rather cut off his own right hand than go faster than Akechi’s comfortable with. This directly leads to Akira discovering his new favorite pastime: waiting until Akechi’s more wound-up than a coiled spring and then putting his hands on Akechi’s waist and saying, “Can I?” because Akechi always looks like Akira handed him a live snake instead of a valid question.

“Can you?” Akechi responds once acidly. Akira lifts both his hands immediately and refuses to do anything until Akechi screws up his face and admits, “Fine, yes, you can, just—alright,” because Akechi knows he won’t keep going until Akechi commits the terrible, unforgivable sin of admitting aloud he wants someone to touch him.

Conflicted feelings? Yeah, no shit. Akechi obviously doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing? No kidding. But the wild thing is that Akira’s having fun.

Akira probably needs his own definition of “fun” checked by a doctor.

*

Maybe too much fun. He does that in the Metaverse sometimes, gets wrapped up in the show and forgets to watch his back. He’s paranoid about doing it in the Metaverse and letting his team down, but he didn’t think—he didn’t even imagine he would do it in the real world, too. (There’s never been much in the real world he enjoyed that much to get carried away with.)

“Why are you good at everything,” Akechi says one day, sounding incredibly frustrated for a guy who unironically keeps ordering Akira to _do that again_ and then moaning like Akira’s wildest wet dreams.

They’re in Akira’s bed in the attic, Morgana downstairs for the night; Akira's got Akechi’s warm weight on top of him like a pressure blanket and he can feel Akechi’s hard-on. “Is that a complaint?” Akira says, letting his own smirk spread across his face.

Akechi looks at him like an accusation and takes a steadying breath. His polite word choice is most endearing when Akechi’s voice is still shaking. “I… wonder how many people you’ve been with before. Is all.”

“Are you asking me about my exes?” Akira says, even more amused.

“Never mind,” says Akechi sharply, and sits up.

Oh. “Hey,” says Akira. “I’m not sleeping around, if that’s what you’re wondering…?”

Akechi stares at him distrustfully. A little fearfully, even.

“What?” says Akira.

“Nothing.”

“Akechi,” says Akira. Akechi’s lips purse. “C’mon. Goro.”

“I didn’t say you could call me by my first name.”

“I’ve had my tongue down your throat.”

“I noticed that, thank you,” Akechi replies primly.

Wow. Son of a bitch. Akira kind of loves him.

“Seriously,” says Akira.

Akira smooths his hands up and down Akechi’s thighs, really quite glad that Akechi hasn’t gotten all the way off him yet while Akechi pulls his shit together. “I admit I’m not,” Akechi says, and stops. “I’m not used to being… out of my depth. And I don’t appreciate pity.”

“What part about excellent make-outs was pity to you?” Akira says, genuinely curious.

Akechi’s eyes narrow. “I don’t need you to—to baby me. Is what I’m trying to say.”

He sounds frustrated with himself, like not being Akira’s equal in every single way is some kind of failure on his own part.

Alright, so Akira’s had some experience. Maybe more than is statistically average for someone Akira’s age. Akira had a girlfriend back in his hometown. Uh, maybe also a boyfriend. And also a second girlfriend for a bit. Not all simultaneously. Also, he might have made out with Ryuji once. Or twice.

It just sort of happens, alright, kind of in the way it just sort of happened with Akechi. Would it make Akechi feel better to know that he'd gotten some of Akira's firsts? Akira really doesn't feel like playing a Never Have I Ever game about this. He hadn’t thought it was going to be an issue, because in his experience his partners appreciated the fact that he knew what he was doing. (He certainly wasn’t in a rush to go back to all the mistakes he made with his first girlfriend, who’d been more than patient with him. She'd also been three years older than him, but that was a story for another time.) He hadn’t thought for a second that Akechi might be different, but here Akechi is, looking more upset than turned on, and that’s no good.

“How about this,” says Akira, and puts his hands over his head. “I might have more experience, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make up for lost time.”

“You _are_ patronizing me,” Akechi says with that deceptively light tone. “So you can see all my naïve fumbling and amateur mistakes? I’d rather not make a fool of myself.”

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” says Akira, and does just that. With his hands over his head and his eyes closed, he’s lying there on his own bed without a shirt and his belt unbuckled, bare stomach and neck open for whatever Akechi decides. “Well? Are you going to ravish me or what?”

Akira can feel when Akechi puts his hands back on the bed, leans in. The mattress shifts under his weight. Akechi’s open shirt trails along Akira’s sensitive stomach. When Akechi speaks, his voice comes a lot closer than Akira expected, right up against his jaw: “You’re just going to let me have my way with you? _Whatever_ I want?”

“Whatever you want. Practice makes perfect,” says Akira.

“You’re going to corrupt me,” Akechi says. Akira can feel Akechi’s lips against his throat when he says it.

Akira smiles with all his teeth, because Akira sincerely hopes so.

**sloth: to avoid necessary work**

They make it two whole weeks before Morgana’s had it.

“Don’t you think this is kind of dangerous?” Morgana exclaims one night after Akechi’s left Leblanc, like he’s been dying to say so.

Akira makes a noncommittal noise.

“Don’t give me that! He’s the one investigating the Phantom Thieves!”

Akira makes another noncommittal noise.

“_You’re_ a Phantom Thief, Joker! Don’t you think you should break it off before things get to be too much?!”

“I know what I’m doing,” says Akira, and rolls into bed and turns off the lights. “Good night, Morgana.”

“Hey! I’m not done talking to you! This is going to blow up in your face sooner or later—aren’t you supposed to be the leader? Think about the team!”

“I am,” says Akira.

Oh, he is. Constantly. All the time.

“And?!”

“Keep your friends close,” says Akira. “Keep your enemies closer.”

Morgana hesitates. “Well, that _is_ true… Don’t you think this is _too_ close?”

“I know what I’m doing,” says Akira again. “Good night.”

“You’re impossible,” says Morgana angrily. But he doesn’t jump out of bed and in fact curls up against the small of Akira’s back, so Akira closes his eyes and breathes deep.

And then: "Don't you think he's just using you?"

"For what?"

"F-For... _you_ know!"

Akira smirks in the dark. "Are you worried about me getting my heart broken?"

"I—I'm just thinking about the team! I won't have you getting all mopey in the middle of a Shadow fight because you got strung along by a pretty face!"

"I'll live."

Morgana bolts right back up and starts pressing his sharp little cat paws all over Akira's stomach. "You'll _live_?!" he yowls. "What kind of attitude is that?! Just because you'll _live_ doesn't mean you should _do_ it! Where's your sense of self preservation?!"

"Morgana—Morgana—_ow_—"

"Think about yourself!" Morgana cries.

"Alright, alright! I promise I won't get hurt."

"So you should stop _now_! I meant it when I said sooner or later," Morgana warns. "Don't pick a fight you can't win!"

Akira thinks about it. "I'll be careful," he says.

"_Joker_!" Morgana wails. Akira covers his face with his pillow and grins.

Sooner or later, he thinks. Sooner or later.

**envy: to desire what another has**

"_Akechi_?" Ryuji says in disbelief when he finds out why Akira's going to be MIA that night again. "Him? _Really_? You're friends with _that_ prissy douche?"

Yep. 'Friends.' Akira tries not to feel bad about lying to Ryuji, especially because Ryuji is one of the few friends he has who knows he's bi. But he thinks that Ryuji, for all he complains about Akechi, would understand why Akechi can't be out. "He's not bad when you get to know him," says Akira.

"Oh—uh, well, I guess if you actually like him, then..." 

On this particular day, there's one of Akechi's own interviews playing on the restaurant's overhead TV. Akechi's looking flawless as always. He smiles and tilts his head just saw, laughs at all the right moments. It's like watching a fine-tuned mechanical doll, doling out lifelike human motions with the same regularity as a vending machine. Ryuji looks back at Akira with a doubtful look. Akira goes back to his ramen. He doesn't blame Ryuji. Whoever that person on TV is, Akira wouldn't want to date him, either.

*

The good thing is that Akira knew going in that Akechi wasn't the Detective Prince that he appeared to be. That was apparent even when they were just friends and not “this didn’t happen and we can’t talk about it.”

The... slightly less good thing... is that whoever Akechi is now that they're more than friends, it's even stranger than even Akira expected. 

He’s not trying to say that he’s surprised, because he expected to learn unexpected things about Akechi when they started this. Akira doesn’t assume to know people’s true selves. He’s got too many Personas to not know better. And he’s not saying he’s _off-put_, exactly, by what he’s learning. It's just...

A month after starting whatever-this-is with Akechi, Akira’s hanging out in Inokashira with Ann, talking about Shiho and what it takes to have a strong heart, when it starts to rain. They get under a nearby tree, but wind up standing in the dirt, and within minutes the ground is swarming with worms crawling up and out of the ground in response to the rain. Ann yelps in disgust. Akira looks down at the worms swarming up out of the mud and thinks: _That’s just like Akechi_.

The rain comes down, all the worms come out. The instant Akira got his first girlfriend, he threw more than a few insecurities at her himself. So maybe that’s just how it always is. Maybe Akechi didn’t even know these things about himself before they hooked up. It takes a certain kind of circumstance for everything to come out of the woodwork.

*

Akira patiently reminds himself that this is Akechi’s first relationship ever, and also that Akechi himself was the person who tried to establish distance and a casual terms-and-conditions to the relationship, and that Akechi has more than demonstrated that he knows that he shouldn’t and can’t be jealous, but it’s a little hard to ignore when Yusuke and Akira are discussing the _Sayuri_ with their foreheads close enough to touch and Akechi walks into Leblanc and immediately looks like Yusuke shot and killed his dog. Akechi pretends he has an appointment somewhere else and leaves instantly.

“Do I know him?” Yusuke asks, forever catching a clue at precisely the wrong moments.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Akira.

“He looked rather distraught. Was it something I did?”

“Don’t worry about it, Yusuke.”

The next time Akechi comes over after Leblanc is closed, the first thing Akechi does is reiterate that he knows that there’s no commitment, and that they’re not dating, and also this never happened in the first place and they’re not talking about it. “I, of course, have no problem whatsoever with your relations with anyone else,” says Akechi, which is, of course, extremely rich coming from the guy who insisted that they’re not dating and they’re not boyfriends and don’t text him while he’s at work except also here’s fifty nervous text messages in a row.

Akira firstly kisses him hello. Then Akira flicks him on the forehead. “Lay off,” he says.

Akechi glowers and rubs his forehead. “Lay off what?” Akechi says immediately, like he doesn’t know what Akira’s talking about.

“You know.”

Akechi gets that look in his eyes like he’s going to start vibrating at the sheer implication of criticism. God and Jesus, does Akira know how to pick them.

“I’m not going to elope with Yusuke,” says Akira.

“I know that,” says Akechi, as if that’s the end of it.

“Alright,” says Akira, and then waits for that to not be the end of it.

Sure enough: “Do you tell him things you don’t tell me?” Akechi says eventually.

Akira doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.” Akira’s first girlfriend had a lot more patience with him than this. Akira’s not that nice.

Akechi could very well be higher-strung than a piano wire, now.

“I don’t tell him some things I tell you,” Akira points out.

“I _know_ that,” Akechi says. The thing is, Akira thinks he’s telling the truth.

Well, Akira’s talked his friends through enough shitty relationships to know how this goes. He’s not feeling up to pulling any punches, and he’s pretty sure Akechi would hate it if he did anyway. "I thought we weren't dating, anyway."

Akechi goes very still. Says nothing. The leather of his gloves creaks loud in the silence. His mouth is a razor-thin wire bent horribly out of shape.

Now Akira's done it.

(Good.)

“And even if we were," Akira goes on, "you know that I have other friends, too, who I do like talking to and spending time with—"

“_I know that_,” Akechi hisses through bared teeth, and snatches his briefcase back up and storms right back out of Leblanc, and then almost immediately sends Akira an apology text with a promise to come back and talk it over like an adult tomorrow, and he’s very sorry for all this, and thank you for your understanding, written like a business email because Akechi doesn’t know how else to make amends.

Sooner or later, Akira thinks to himself.

He spends his night building lockpicks with Morgana instead. Morgana, bless him, offers to listen if Akira wants to talk about it. Akira scratches him around the ears and says nothing, and Morgana doesn't push it.

**gluttony: to indulge beyond necessity**

Morgana still takes it upon himself to disapprove of Akira’s dating choices at any chance he gets but has kept to his word to keep his mouth shut around the other Thieves, so most of the time Akira just ignores him whenever he brings it up. One day, Morgana’s watching Akira text Akechi with a studious focus that he usually reserves for the most difficult of Shadows, and instead of berating him like he always does, Morgana says, “Are you _sure_ you want that piece of work?”

“Akechi?” A piece of work? “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Just…” Morgana makes a rather expressive face, considering that he’s currently a cat. “He _looks_ pretty. But even you have to admit that underneath, he’s kind of a fixer-upper, don’t you think?”

“You say that like not all of our friends are fixer-uppers.”

“Not Lady Ann! She’s perfect and radiant just the way she is!”

On screen, Akechi’s verbally overthinking the fact that they met up three days in a row because they’re not supposed to be “dating.” Akira puts his chin in his hand. “But I like my fixer-uppers,” he says aloud, even as he thinks that sometimes he just wants to strap Akechi down and _make_ him relax. Or maybe have Akechi hold _him_ down and let Akechi get it all out of his system.

Akira files that fantasy away for later.

Morgana’s eyeing him in the way he does right before Akira sticks his entire arm in the vending machine to rescue his chips. “If you’re sure,” says Morgana doubtfully.

Now Akechi’s attempting to both cancel their meeting tonight and specify a meeting time simultaneously. Akira sighs. “I’m sure,” he says, and texts Akechi to square up and come over.

*

Tonight they’re “studying together,” which is of course going to contain more make-outs than studying. When Akechi comes in and the little bell over the door jingles, Akira knows the song and dance before it even happens: Akechi will come upstairs, get all the study materials out, pretend not to notice Akira flirting with him, snap, flirt back, go through all the red tape before they get to the part where Akechi’s got his hands in Akira’s hair and is outlining Akira’s jaw with his teeth. They'll pretend Akechi doesn't say Akira's name like a prayer when he comes. Akechi will look away when Akira kisses his palm.

They’ve only just gotten up the stairs but Akira can see the whole thing in front of him, playing out like another life in this same attic. Akechi puts the bag by the floor table and sits down, taking out his homework like he’s actually intending to do it. “What do you want to do tonight?”

_What’s Akechi got against indulgence?_ some voice in Akira's head hisses. Does he not _like_ being here? Does he not like that he likes being here? Is it because Akira's a guy?

“What I want to do?”

Akechi smiles. “I meant the math or the English, Akira.”

Akechi doesn’t mean the math or the English. He means competitive flirting that borders on an extreme sport, and then kisses hard enough to bruise. Like Akira is something to binge, get all out of Akechi's system, and feel guilty about the morning after. 

(Akira wants to do _literally anything_ except that.) He can handle being someone's dirty secret. He can. He _can_. He knew what he was getting into, kissing a guy, kissing a celebrity, the literal detective investigating Akira's own crimes, making deals, transactional love, trading kisses for kisses, secrets for safety. He's fine with it—Morgana said it'd blow up sooner or later, and Morgana meant _Akechi_, meant the Phantom Thieves and Akechi The Detective; Akira was supposed to be watching Akechi for the inevitable fall-out and blow-up, not—he knew what he was getting into—he _knows _what he's doing—

"Akira?" Akechi says sharply.

Akira jerks. "Anything's fine," he says. "Whatever you want."

"You can't expect me to believe that when you're making that face."

"Whatever you want," says Akira.

Akechi's got that look on his face again like he's on the verge of running for it because Akira couldn't be a big boy and keep his shit together for three hours. "How about you sit down?" he says instead, so Akira does. Then it's just two guys sitting at a table staring at a bunch of homework they never intended to actually do. "...Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I can go."

"It's not you."

"Hm," says Akechi, like Akira's made an unusual chess move. "Then I'll ask again: What do you want to do?"

Like they're going to have a—a philosophical debate about it or something, like how they did that first time in the TV studio. Under Akechi's piercing focus, Akira removes his glasses. The frames are hurting his ears again, but he hadn't realized until he'd taken them off. He scrubs at his face. He might actually be getting a headache. Maybe that can be his excuse. When he opens his eyes again, Akechi's still looking at Akira like he's a puzzle to be solved, an opponent to be measured.

"I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't find you interesting, Kurusu," says Akechi. "I want to hear what you have to say."

"Do you?" Akira asks.

"Of course. You've never failed to surprise me, after all."

Akechi's right. Akechi's got to be right. Akira can do better than this, is smarter than this, was never meant to play the game by its own rules like this. If Akira backs down now, Akechi wins this—this strange game they're playing, with all its rules and strategies and clever workarounds. And under Akechi's expectant stare, Akira knows he can't lie down and give up, because Akechi won't let him.

Not when Akira can and should blow this _stupid_ fucking game clear out of the water.

He can do this.

Akechi will accept nothing less.

Slowly, Akira puts the glasses back on. Lifts his head. Looks back at Akechi, who beams, satisfied.

"Let's do the English," Akira says.

Still holding eye contact, Akira just takes Akechi's right hand in his left. The benefit of having a left-handed not-boyfriend is that they can have both their dominant hands free. “We’re reading a short story and I don’t understand any of it. My pronunciation is... not great.”

"Hm," says Akechi again. He's watching Akira like holding hands is a chess move Akira's made, and he's not quite sure where it's going yet but he's dying to find out. Akira smooths one thumb over the back of Akira's hand, slow and sure, like he can pull the moment and Akechi's interest with him. "Alright. Let's do the English, then."

Akechi hasn’t read the story before, but he knows more English than Akira. As he goes, Akira slowly works his arms around Akechi’s waist, tucks his legs under Akechi's. "I can hardly translate it with you distracting me," says Akechi, sounding like he thinks that's the point.

"Keep going," says Akira.

“I suppose it’s good practice,” Akechi says. As if Akechi doesn’t just like being a show-off with his fancy ability to pronounce L’s and R’s. “And a lot of these words can be learned from the context... Akira?”

“I’m still listening,” says Akira with his face in Akechi’s shoulder. He still hasn’t let go of Akechi’s hand. Akechi’s still wearing his starchy dress uniform, but the crook of Akechi’s neck is still such a nice place to rest. Akechi is solid, soft skin, flat muscles. 

“Are you going to keep stalling all night?”

“Stalling on what?”

Akira thinks he can hear Akechi's heartbeat through his shirt. Or maybe that's just his own. Akira spreads the flat of his hand across Akechi's side and keeps it there. “You know what," says Akechi.

"It's a hug, Goro."

Akechi looks faintly indulgent now, like Akira's just told a blatant lie. Sometimes Akira just wants to sock Akechi in the face. With his mouth, usually. “I know what a hug is,” says Akechi. “Are you intending to distract me from studying or not?”

"Why don't," Akira says slowly, "you figure that out yourself, Detective."

"Maintaining plausible deniability?"

"You say that like it's not plausible I just want to curl up against you while you read to me in English.”

Akechi doesn't respond immediately. At some point, he's got to figure out what Akira's doing, but Akechi's big detective brain seems to be trying literally every other possible answer first.

By the time Akechi gets to the middle of the story, he's fidgeting impatiently in Akira's hands. His hand in Akira's grip is holding on just a little too tightly for comfort, now. “Relax,” says Akira.

“Alright, Kurusu,” Akechi blurts out. "What's all this about?"

Does Akechi think Akira’s going to admit to doing all this just as a roundabout way of leading to sex if Akechi asks enough times? “Figure it out," Akira says again, then smiles widely, quite satisfied with himself already, and shifts to drape himself more thoroughly across Akechi's torso. Akira sighs deeply. “You have to finish the story. I’m listening.”

“…Are you _smelling_ me?” Akechi asks.

“You don’t have to say it like that. You smell nice. You’re the one who wears perfume.”

“It’s a _mist_,” says Akechi, offended, and Akira can’t help it. He cracks up on the spot, and then apologizes with kisses until Akechi can't glare anymore.

Akechi eventually does finish the story, mostly reading it aloud, while Akira really does just soak in Akechi’s body heat through his shirt. At some point, Akira unwraps all his limbs in favor of putting his head down on Akechi’s leg, and Akechi takes about ten minutes of waffling before he lets himself stroke Akira’s hair. Eventually, Akira closes his eyes.

*

He wakes up at one in the morning. Akechi's fallen asleep leaning against the bed with one hand still in Akira's hair and the other hand still clutching his phone. Just looking at him kills Akira's back, so Akira wakes him up. When Akechi blinks blearily awake, Akira tells him that the trains have long since stopped, and that he can stay the night to sleep. _That_ wakes Akechi up, like finally, Akechi's got proof positive that all this was just a roundabout way of sexual foreplay, an almost comical '_gotcha!_' on his face.

“It’s not an innuendo,” says Akira. He fishes out an extra pair of pajamas for Akechi and tosses it to him. “I can take the couch if you want. But it’d be nice to sleep together for once.”

Akechi stares at him.

"Figured it out, Detective?" Akira asks, and plants a kiss on his nose with a wide, unrepentant grin.

When Akira stands up and turns away to brush his teeth downstairs, Akechi's expression crumples.

It's too late at night. Akechi's barely awake, let alone ready to react to his not-boyfriend telling him in so many words that he isn't just a booty call and never was. Akechi’s face looks like it’s cracking at the very seams. Abruptly he turns away, fists clenched in the pajamas Akira gave him, and looks up at Akira's ceiling with naked fury.

When Akira spits his toothpaste out into Leblanc's bathroom sink, he wonders if maybe it'd be easier for everyone if he let it just be about sex. Akira doesn't _have_ to do this. Morgana was the one who told him to call it off. Maybe Morgana was right.

When he comes back, in pajamas and with clean teeth, Akechi’s staring out the window, looking dwarfed by Akira’s mattress and baggy sweatshirt. The collar on the shirt is way too wide and Akira can see nearly his entire shoulder. Akira wonders if he should offer to call a taxi for him, give him some space, just as Akechi notices him there and scoots over to make room for him. He doesn’t look any less tiny, but he looks determined, and more than game to figure out the apparently dangerous and complicated business of literally sleeping in the same bed as someone else.

Akira leans in and presses one kiss to Akechi’s lips and another to his forehead, and then turns off the lights. Akechi winds up on his back while Akira wraps one arm around his chest, Akechi’s hand around his forearm. They pull up the covers around both of them. Akira presses his cheek to Akechi's skin and breathes. Even in the dark, Akira can feel Akechi begin to shake.

**wrath: to replace love with fury**

Akira's first girlfriend had been seventeen and three years old than him. (Long story.) They talked a lot about boys, weirdly enough, since she'd dated a few and he already knew he was bi. She'd tease him into telling her about his crushes, and then tease him about whoever it was. _Him? Really? You want _that_ one?_ she'd say, like some early echo of Morgana's fond disdain. 

She told him: _Don't bother with a guy who's kind of a mess and promises he'll get better. He doesn't mean it. It's a lie so he can keep doing whatever he's already doing. He's waiting for you to get used to his shit. _

_People don't change._

Akira still thinks about that when he watches Ohya slam down another shot, or Ann swear she'll become stronger, or Makoto over-achieve her way out of over-achieving. He knows that she told him that because she didn't want to see him get hurt. Maybe she always knew he liked the fixer-uppers. It takes a certain kind of girl to date a fourteen-year-old in her second year of high school, after all.

And yet, despite everything, things with Akechi start to smooth out.

Akechi starts smiling when Akira kisses him. Sometimes Akechi kisses Akira first now, sometimes even outside of Leblanc’s attic when Leblanc is empty, always preceded by a subtle glance over his own shoulder. He holds Akira’s hand under the Leblanc booth tables. They start going to Inokashira together, or the movie theatre. He still gets a certain look on his face whenever Akira mentions Yusuke or Ryuji, but he really did seem to take it heart when Akira told him to lay off. The fifty nervous text messages in a row stop happening. Akechi stops telling Akira to stop calling him his boyfriend. Akechi stops telling Akira to stop talking about it. Once, while they’re hanging out in Akira’s bed watching bad anime, Akechi laughs one of those deep, outright laughs from your stomach, and Akira kind of loves him just then.

Akira stops pretending to lock up Leblanc only to unlock it for Akechi later. Sometimes Akechi comes in the afternoon and doesn't bother pretending to leave when Leblanc closes. Sojiro doesn't ask, but Akechi seems to believe Akira when Akira assures him that Sojiro knows how to keep a secret, and also has better things to do than feed tabloid mags gossip about teenaged celebrities. Akechi never keeps clothes there, but he does eventually keep a toothbrush, some toothpaste, and, later, a phone charger. The toothbrush and toothpaste sit in the top left corner of Akira's bookshelf in a mug, the phone charger in a plastic bag. When they ask, Akira tells the other Thieves he's just extremely committed to oral hygiene.

Every morning, Akechi wakes up nearly an entire hour before Akira, but he never leaves early, never even gets out of bed. Sometimes Akira wakes up and watches Akechi, unaware of his audience, scroll through his own Twitter hashtag, or crawl through Wikipedia on his phone, or do his homework at six in the morning for some ungodly reason. Sometimes Akechi gets up at six in the morning sharp and just sits there in the rising sun, looking unbearably guilty, like he's done something hideously wrong by sitting in Akira's bed. But he still doesn't run off. And Akira closes his eyes and goes back to sleep knowing that everything will work out because not only does Akira want it to work out, but Akechi wants it to work out, and if they work together Akira doesn't see why they couldn't have anything they want.

Akira did say he knew what he was doing.

One night Akechi text him out of the blue to stay far away from any TV for the next week, which means Akira immediately rolls out of bed and turns on the TV to a late-night interview with Detective Prince Goro Akechi. "_Surely a young man like yourself must have his heart set on someone_," says the interviewer, and for one, _two_ whole seconds, Akechi blinks at the interviewer, and then says cheerfully: "_Maybe so!_" The studio audience goes ballistic. Akechi starts backpedaling like a professional, but the damage is done. Akira's reading tabloid blogs about Akechi's secret girlfriend within hours. And for the rest of the interview, Akechi doesn't seem to be regretting it much.

Akira supposes nothing changed in that respect: He's still getting his relationship updates from Akechi's taped interviews. He spends the next day sending Akechi twenty-two different listicles on Akechi's mistake with assorted heart emojis until Akechi blocks him.

Despite Morgana's warnings, nobody gets caught as the Phantom Thieves, either. And the other Thieves sort of pick up that Akira knows Akechi pretty well, because he tells them sometimes that he’s going to spend time with him. Ryuji stops ragging on Akechi quite so loudly in front of Akira. Sometimes, Akira feels like he’s on the edge of making the whole thing work, with all the rough edges and bumpy roads and all, and he wonders if maybe all he’s got to do is convince Akechi to let Akira introduce him to the rest of the Thieves as his boyfriend after all.

*

He’s so caught up thinking about going from "we can't talk about it" to "boyfriends" that he completely forgets to plan just about every other aspect of the scenario, and winds up asking Akechi to join the party at Destinyland. And then Akira remembers precisely zero-point-one seconds later that Akechi definitely cannot come to that party because one, everyone in attendance will be a Phantom Thief, leaving Akechi as the _only_ person not in on the loop, and two, they’re waiting with bated breath for Haru’s _father’s_ change of heart. And Akira’s ninety-nine percent sure the change of heart will go through, but there’s no reason to gamble with that one percent—not to mention there’s no way Ann and Ryuji won’t yell at the top of their lungs when the change of heart goes through.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Akechi doesn’t respond. Just looks down at the ground, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. If Akira didn’t know any better, he’d think Akechi was praying.

“Goro?”

Akechi blinks, and looks up. “Sorry. Lost in thought. I appreciate it, but I don’t really know your friends very well. I’d rather not intrude.”

Yeah, Akira’s heard it’s unpleasant to show up to someone else’s party as just “so-and-so’s partner.” Thank god Akechi has more forethought than Akira.

He nods and zips up his duffel and plants a kiss on Akechi’s cheek. Akechi’s face could be made of porcelain, it’s gone so blank, so Akira stops and wonders. “Do you have any time tomorrow? I really can’t miss this party today, but we could catch dinner then.”

“I think my schedule’s going to become very busy in the future,” says Akechi quietly. “This might be the last we see each other for a while.”

Akira frowns. “Well,” he says, and stops himself, knowing exactly how busy Akechi’s schedule could get between school and work. Sometimes there really is no way to make it work. “That’s fine too. Text me, okay?”

“All right.”

“We’ll see each other again soon,” says Akira. “I’ll miss you until then.”

Akechi looks up at him, his hands still folded, and says with complete sincerity, “I’ll miss you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter [@r_crimes](https://twitter.com/r_crimes)  
tumblr [@akechicrimes](http://akechicrimes.tumblr.com)


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